Hallelujah
by GirlInTheMirror121
Summary: Slight AU: Based on the song "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley. Blaine Anderson meets Kurt Hummel at a music store. Kurt despises music and is harboring a dark secret, darker than Blaine ever fathomed. Can Blaine fix him, or is Kurt too far lost to be saved?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Hallelujah.**

**Note: Alright, so here's my newest Kurt/Blaine story, based upon the Jeff Buckley song "Hallelujah". My personal favorite version of this song is by Kate Voegele, but Christina Grimmie's rendition is lovely as well. I recommend listening to the Kate Voegele one to get the 'feel' for this story and the inspiration behind it. **

**Summary: Kurt and Blaine meet as teenagers. They are as different as night and day, but Blaine falls for the cynical boy despite himself. What he doesn't know is that Kurt is hiding a secret that could destroy any chance of a relationship they might have with each other. **

**Rated: Mature for later chapters. **

_Well, I heard there was a secret chord_

_That David played, and it pleased the Lord_

_But you don't really care for music, do you?_

Blaine Anderson wandered the streets of Lima in search of a music store. He wasn't looking for much; just a new keyboard and maybe a few blank music books to write some compositions in. He hadn't had much luck in Waterville, but he figured Lima would be a good place to look. Either way, he could always stop by the Lima Bean to have a coffee and to relax before heading back to school. Blaine attended Dalton Academy, an all-boy's private school nearly two hours away from where he was now. He had taken the bus to Lima, and only had a few hours before he was due back, so he quickened his pace down the near-empty streets. He was alone, it was true, but he felt content, at peace with the world, taking comfort in his own loneliness and silence, nodding politely at people who held doors for him or the waitress in the café that he'd stopped in for a quick lunch. Stores passed by, but none of them seemed to have what he was looking for. Feeling defeated, he started to backtrack to the Lima Bean, when he suddenly spotted a sign around the corner: _Hummel Piano & Music_. Heart speeding up with hope, he walked towards it. Peering in the window of the small store, he saw a variety of pianos, violins, drums, and music accessories in the crowded space. Stepping inside, he found the store to be warm and inviting. It was cluttered, but not overtly so. A light bell tinkled as he opened the door, and Blaine breathed in the familiar music-store smell, a smell that he could not describe unless someone had smelled it for themselves. Wandering through the store, he found that the very keyboard he had been searching for was on sale, and he broke into a grin.

"Can I help you with something?" A light voice asked from behind him, and he jumped slightly, not having seen anyone else in the store.

"Oh!" He started, turning around. "Um, well, yes. I'd like this keyboard, please, and a few composition books." He glanced at the clerk's nametag: _Kurt_.

"Whatever," Kurt rolled his eyes, stalking over to the cash register. He grabbed the composition books off the shelf behind the counter. "Wait here. I'll go get the keyboard." Blaine nodded and looked around the store some more. What a lovely place, he'd decided. Not seeing any other clerks around, he suspected that Kurt might be the owner's son. In that case, he deduced, Kurt's last name was Hummel. Kurt Hummel, he thought to himself. What a nice name. He tinkered with some of the things on the counter, picking up a light blue business card that read _Hummel Piano & Music Supply. Owner and proprietor Burt Hummel. Phone 302.235.7431._ He pocketed it for later. At that moment, Kurt came back, carrying the box that contained Blaine's treasured and sought-after keyboard. "Here you go," Kurt put it on the counter carelessly. "That'll be $150.53."

"No problem," Blaine smiled, handing Kurt the money. "So, um, nice place."

"I guess," Kurt shrugged. "I'm not really a big music fan."

"What?" Blaine's mouth fell open. "You work in a music store, and you don't like music? Isn't that kind of…"

"My dad owns the place," Kurt rolled his eyes. "And he pays me good money to do this after-school and on weekends."

"Your dad?" Blaine perked up. "Is he some sort of musician?"

"Not hardly," Kurt rolled his eyes again. "My mom was. She died when I was six. My _father_ is tone-deaf." Blaine couldn't help but to notice the way Kurt's inflection changed when he said "father"; an almost sarcastic, mocking tone that was so different from his usual light voice, and Blaine wondered why.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Blaine said uncomfortably. "About your mother, that is. So, um, I guess that would make you Kurt Hummel then, right?" He mentally slapped himself for stating such an obvious thing.

"You're a keeper, alright," Kurt scoffed. "And who, may I ask, are you, Hobbit?"

Blaine blushed furiously at the jab about his height. "Blaine Anderson. I go to Dalton Academy, in Westerville."

"Blaine's a weird name," Kurt wrinkled his nose. "And what's with your _outfit_? I mean, it's like, the weekend. What's with the uniform?"

"Force of habit," Blaine said, blushing even harder.

"I assume you buy your hair gel by the gallon?" Kurt asked snidely.

"And I assume _you_ buy your skin-care products by the barrel?" Blaine shot back.

Kurt raised a brow. "Touché. So, Blaine Anderson from Westerville, what brings you here to shitty old Lima?"

Blaine's eyes widened at Kurt's slightly angelic voice and even sweeter face cursing and leaning over the counter like a rebel-without-a-cause. "Well, I tried all the music stores there, and none of them had what I was looking for. Besides, I enjoy grabbing a snack and a coffee at the Lima Bean when I'm in town."

"Ah, the perfect hipster-wannabe hangout for hipster-wannabes such as yourself," Kurt clucked his tongue. "Tsk, tsk. I would've thought better of a Dalton student."

"Oh," Blaine looked down, scorned. "So, um, where do you go to school?"

"The shit-hole that is McKinley High School, home of assholes, Queen Bitches, and jocks who have nothing better to do than harass those who aren't exactly the perfect stereotype that they are. It blows ass," Kurt filed his nails casually.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said awkwardly. "Um, so I take you you're, um, bullied?"

Kurt's face clouded over, and he subconsciously pulled his sleeve down. "I think it's best that you leave now, Blaine Anderson," he said coolly.

"I'm sorry, did I say something?" Blaine asked.

"Here," Kurt shoved the keyboard box and the books into Blaine's arms. "Just…get out."

"Wait," Blaine frowned. "Please, let me make it up to you…I'm sorry…I didn't know…I've been bullied myself, and I didn't know if you know what I've been going through, too." He studied Kurt's expression closely, a hardened mask that he just _knew_ immeasurable pain was hiding behind, hence the cynical "I-don't-give-a-fuck" attitude.

"Look," Kurt placed his hands flat on the counter. "It's not something I like to talk about. You have no idea, no _fucking_ idea what it's like to be the _only_ openly gay kid at your school, to always be shoved against lockers and called 'fag' or 'fairy-boy' or 'queer' or 'homo' in the halls and to have those words spray-painted on your locker. You don't know what it's like to be thrown into Dumpsters like yesterday's trash. You don't know what it's like to be harassed and assaulted _every day of your life_ by people who hate you just because your sexual preferences are different than theirs. You don't _fucking_ know, Blaine Anderson, and you _never_ will." Kurt was shaking with rage by this point, and Blaine stood there in silence, wondering how he'd never met this boy before, this beautiful, haunted, broken boy.

"I do, actually," Blaine said softly. "I'm the only openly gay kid at Dalton. And, like you, I've been harassed for my sexuality. Well, that was before Dalton, when I was at a public school in Columbus. I transferred to Dalton because they have a strict no-tolerance policy. Before that, though, I was harassed, like you." Blaine looked down at the counter, suddenly uncomfortable. He took in a breath, feeling Kurt looking at him with slight curiosity. "I had just come out, and I asked the only other gay kid—who was _not_ out—to the annual Sadie Hawkins dance. All was okay, until we were waiting for his dad to pick us up after. These guys jumped us in the parking lot…I was in the hospital for three days…needless to say, we made the decision to switch to Dalton after that incident."

"You're almost as fucked-up as me," Kurt quipped. "Perhaps one day we could be friends. But for now, Blaine Anderson, we shall have to part ways."

"Why?" Blaine dared to ask.

"One, I hate music just as much as you love it. And two, you're just not my type," Kurt handed Blaine his receipt and waved him out the door.

"Okay, well…'bye, I guess," Blaine nodded as he pushed the door open with his hip, gripping the keyboard carefully while the bag holding the composition books dangled from his wrist. He looked in the store window for a brief moment, watching as Kurt pulled out what appeared to be a book of some sort, flip to a page towards the middle, and begin to read. He sighed and headed towards the Lima Bean, only about a ten minutes' walk away from the store. Settling down with a coffee and a biscotti, he opened one of the composition books, inhaling that new-book smell. Something fluttered to the floor, and curiously, he picked it up. _Kurt_, it read. _302.555.4890. _Blaine smiled to himself, tucking it away for later. He wondered when Kurt had tucked that into the book, if it was before or after he had told him he was gay, too. Blaine had to admit that Kurt was very good-looking, what with his light brown hair and shockingly beautiful eyes that were a haunting blue-grey color. When Kurt had ducked into the back room, Blaine noticed that Kurt's ass was particularly nice, crammed into skinny jeans like a teenage girl, yet had slight curves. He blushed at the memory, wishing his eyes hadn't been trained there. He also wondered just why Kurt hated music so much. He couldn't imagine why anyone could hate music, really, as music was one of the most healing and magical things, both in nature and man-made. Blaine in fact was hoping to be a music therapist one day, working with hospital patients, especially troubled children and teens, perhaps gay teens that were afraid of dealing with their own sexuality, like he was. It in fact was through music that Blaine came to terms with the fact that he was sexually attracted to other boys, and it was music that helped him to deal with this life-changing fact.

He exited the Bean, heading towards the bus stop. He pressed his temple against the window and sighed deeply. Once he got back to his dorm, he immediately set up his new keyboard and ran some scales, loving how the sweet music filled the room with its swells and falls. He cracked open the first composition book, and, with thoughts of Kurt in his mind, began to write, letting the words and harmonies and melodies come to him as he devised a way to show Kurt Hummel that music could be the best thing in the world, and that it could bring two souls, no matter how different, together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Hallelujah.**

**Note: Gosh, thanks to all of you who put this on Story Alert! I wish more of you would review, though. It really doesn't take that long to do, and it helps me know what you guys are thinking of this, be it positive or negative. Thank you.**

_Well, it goes like this:_

_The fourth, the fifth_

_The minor fall and the major lift_

_The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

Blaine took a deep breath before dialing Kurt's number. He held that breath as the phone rang in his ear, a symphony of hope and uncertainty. "Hello?"

"Um, hi," Blaine said shyly. "This is, uh…"

"Why, if it isn't Blaine Anderson from Westerville," Kurt said in a slightly cocky voice.

"Uh, yes," Blaine said in surprise, caught off guard by the fact that Kurt could recognize his voice after only having met him once. "I'm him. I mean, yes, it's me. I mean…"

"So charming," Kurt sneered. "What do you want?"

"I want to teach you the joy and wonder of music," Blaine felt a little more confident as he looked at his composition book. Kurt began to laugh. "I really feel as if you're missing out," Blaine tried to speak over Kurt's insane laughter. "And I know music really helped me out at a time when I was in a dark place-"

"Stop right there," Kurt calmed down a little bit. "While I…_appreciate_…the offer, I still hate music. Look, I don't even own an iPod, okay? And while I'd _love_ nothing _more_ than to hang out with the great _Blaine Anderson_, I must refuse."

Blaine flinched at the unmitigated sarcasm dripping in Kurt's voice. "I'm not that great," he said finally.

"Oh, but I'm sure you are," Kurt said lightly. "Mr. Private-School-Preppy-Boy."

Blaine gritted his teeth. "I told you why I transferred to Dalton."

"Ah, but not all of us have enough money to transfer to an exclusive all-boy's boarding school, do we?" Kurt quipped.

"I'm on scholarship," Blaine said tightly. "And I get the feeling that you don't like me very much." He picked at a loose thread on his pajama pants, twisting it off and letting it fall slowly to the floor.

"That would be almost correct," Kurt paused. "And by 'almost', I mean, you do seem to be the stereotypical dapper/pretty boy/prep/hipster-wannabe that I so despise, but being one of the only other openly gay teenagers in this godforsaken state they call Ohio, I feel as if I'm morally obligated to like you as a colleague of sorts."

"Please," Blaine pleaded. "Just…come over to Dalton, or something. We can even meet at the store, or the Lima Bean. I just…I want to play you something. Something that I wrote last night, after meeting you. It's…you inspired it," he whispered.

"Oh?" Kurt raised a brow. "_I_ inspired _you_ to write a piece of music?"

"Yeah," Blaine cleared his throat. "And I really want you to hear it. I could teach you to play, if you want…"

"My mother taught me from the age of two," Kurt said bluntly. He softened, though, and quickly said, "but I'd like to hear this scintillating and truly wonderful, Grammy-Award-winning composition inspired by one meeting with me." _Not that that's creepy at all_, he muttered under his breath.

"Great!" Blaine didn't seem to hear him. "So, um…how's…how's next weekend?"

"Very well," Kurt sighed. "I suppose my calendar is free. Come to the store and go around to the back. Knock on the door twice, two short knocks, and I'll let you in."

"Awesome," Blaine smiled. "See you then."

"Yes, I suppose you will, Blaine Anderson," Kurt rolled his eyes and clicked his phone off. True, he had given this kid his number, but he hardly would've guessed that Blaine would actually _call_ him. This kid was just so damn optimistic, something that Kurt definitely was not. If Blaine was glass-half-full, Kurt was glass-half-empty. Kurt would admit that he was a bit creeped out that Blaine had written a _composition_ for him after only meeting him once, and that he was determined to show him the "joy" and "wonder" of music. Kurt scoffed; joy and wonder of music? There was no such thing.

_The next Saturday_

Blaine took a deep breath before knocking twice on the back door to Kurt's father's store, two short knocks, just as Kurt had asked. Moments later, a breathless Kurt answered, and Blaine wondered if Kurt had been waiting around for him. "Ah, I thought so."

"Hey," Blaine rocked from one foot to the other. "So, um…"

"I believe you said you had some sort of masterpiece to show me?"

"Oh, right, yes," Blaine fumbled with his bag. "May I, um…?"

"Duh," Kurt held open the door for the dark-haired boy. "Are you always this jumpy? Do I scare you or something? Wouldn't be the first time I've driven someone away."

"Oh! No, not at all," Blaine flushed pink with embarrassment.

"Sure," Kurt eyed him strangely. "So, here's a piano," he gestured.

Blaine laughed. "I think I know what a piano looks like, Kurt."

Kurt dropped him a glare that Blaine could've sworn had icicles in it. "Don't make me regret inviting you over, Blaine Anderson."

"Sorry," Blaine dropped his gaze. "Um, well," he pulled his composition book out of his bag and opened it, setting it on the piano's rest. "It…it doesn't have a title yet, but…um, I hope you like it."

"Dazzle me," Kurt said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he casually leaned against a drum set, crossing his arms, a glazed look of boredom forming in his eyes.

"Okay," Blaine said softly. He took a deep breath and let his fingers fly over the keys, letting the notes rise and fall. What he loved most in music was the way that a melody could rise, fall, and then rise again; especially when the rising notes were major notes and the falling notes were minor notes. He loved composing things in 4/4, but also enjoyed 3/3, or even mixing it up and having different counts and different tempos to make the piece more complex and interesting. He wished he could've caught a glimpse of Kurt's face as he played the melancholic, haunting, and beautiful song that he'd inspired, but his back was to the pale boy. Sure, Blaine could've turned around, as he knew the keys so well that he could've played blindfolded, but he couldn't bring himself to. When he had finished playing, he let his hands fall down to his sides. There was silence between the two boys, and Blaine hesitated to turn around, afraid that Kurt had up and left.

"So I inspired that, eh?" Kurt finally spoke up softly, a voice that Blaine had not heard him use before, a tone so different from the usual harsh, sarcastic, hardened one.

"Yes," Blaine whispered. "Did…did you like it?"  
>Kurt tapped his fingers on the cymbal of the drum set, creating a steady rhythm that beat in time to Blaine's heart. Before he knew it, Kurt was squeezing into the piano bench next to Blaine. He leaned his elbow on the side of the shiny black instrument. "Play it again," he demanded, a slightly amused look in his light eyes.<p>

"S…sure," Blaine nodded. "Of…of course." He cleared his throat and began to play again, occasionally sneaking a glance at Kurt's face, which was a blank slate, completely unreadable and causing the younger boy to get nervous, and he hit the wrong key, immediately turning red at the clinker. When he'd finished again, he sat there, breathing heavily, a sudden heat forming between him and the other boy. Blaine shivered; how hadn't he noticed before how pretty Kurt's eyes were, how nice his skin was, how cute his nose was, how soft his hair looked…he closed his eyes, not wanting the boy to catch him staring.

"Again," Kurt demanded, face still not expressing emotion, but his eyes had a glint of amusement in them.

"Okay," Blaine trembled, suddenly hyper-aware of Kurt's eyes watching his every move, his ears listening to every note, his fingers tapping the top of the piano rhythmically.

"Stop," Kurt said in the middle of the piece, and Blaine complied. "I can't listen to this knowing it doesn't have a title."

"Well," Blaine said brightly. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Beautiful Misery," Kurt quipped lightly. "Because that's what I live every day."

"Kurt," Blaine forced himself to look into Kurt's pale eyes. "Why…why are you so miserable? I…I think you're…you're covering these horrible, lonely feelings with being snarky and sarcastic because…it's easier to…to deal with…"

Kurt played a few keys aimlessly, seeming to ignore Blaine. "Maybe you don't really know me as much as you think you do."

"But I want to," Blaine cast his gaze downwards.

"You can't fix what's not broken," Kurt spoke wisely. "And I most certainly am not broken, despite the fact that my family is. And just because someone has a sarcastic, snarky, or witty personality, that automatically means they're covering up something darker and deeper?" He laughed. "My, my, I'm glad you're not a psychologist."

"I…I guess I'll be going now," Blaine stood up awkwardly and began to pack up.

"Wait," Kurt said quickly. "Leave the book," he nodded towards said object.

"Are you sure?" Blaine furrowed his brow.

"Do you really need it? I did sell you three," Kurt challenged.

"Well, I suppose not," Blaine said slowly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I…I, um, I guess I'll see you soon, then."

"You just might," Kurt smirked, turning his back on Blaine for the first time, listening to Blaine leave the room. As soon as he was sure that the boy had left, Kurt took a breath and began to play the composition that had been written for him by a boy who might be more than he seemed…just like himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Hallelujah.**

**Note: I'm really surprised by all the Story Alerts! Still, would it kill you or bother you horribly to write a quick review to let me know how this is doing and to let me know that you're really reading this and not just "following it"? Thanks. **

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

"Honestly, Blaine, what's gotten into you?" Wes asked as he wearily glanced over at the spaced-out teen at Warbler rehearsal.

"Oh, um, nothing," Blaine blushed, twiddling his thumbs.

"Come on," David nudged him with his elbow. "Tell us! We're your best friends."

"Okay, okay," Blaine laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "So I met a guy the other week and…"

"Here we go again," Wes rolled his eyes. "Blaine, this happens every other week, I swear! In the six months that you've been here, you've had no less than ten crushes."

"But this one's different," Blaine protested.

"That's what he said about Trent, wasn't it?" David piped up. "And about Sebastian, and Jeremiah, and…"

"To my credit," Blaine said slowly. "Sebastian and Jeremiah were actually gay, unlike Trent, though I have my suspicions about that boy. This one's gay. And he's cute. Therefore, I am fully within my rights to crushdom."

"Let me guess," Wes said slowly. "He has dark hair and light eyes, am I right?"

"You know me too well," Blaine muttered. "But alas, yes, he does."

"Damn," Wes whistled, noticing the starry look in his eyes. "You've got it _bad_."

"I do not," Blaine said indignantly. "We've only met twice, for your information."

"Just…take it easy," David advised. "Don't rush into things again. I hate having to pick up the pieces, and Wes does too." Wes nodded in agreement.

"Yeah," he said. "You're great, Blaine, and we love having you in the Warblers, but it's hard when you're constantly brooding over some guy."

"I don't _brood_," Blaine scoffed. "He's different, though. I can't explain it."

"What's his name?" David leaned forward curiously.

"Kurt," Blaine sighed in happiness. "Kurt Hummel."

"Where'd you pick him up?" Wes slid into the seat next to David.

"At his dad's music store," Blaine replied. "And he made the first move, kind of, by which I mean he slipped his number into one of the composition books I bought."

"Wait," Wes gripped David's arm for comedic purposes. "Blaine actually didn't make the first move?"

"I must be hearing things!" David pretended to swoon.

"Oh, knock it off, you monkeys." Blaine swatted both of them and smiled. "Think I should talk to him?"

"What, you memorized his number already?" Wes smirked.

"Maybe," Blaine's hand moved towards his phone, which was resting on the table between them. Wes and David exchanged a glance before both making a leap for it. David obtained it first and scrolled through Blaine's contacts list.

"Oh, look, it has a little heart next to it," he teased.

"Honestly, Blaine, you're _such_ a teenage girl," Wes shook his head. "Call him."

"What, with you two idiots sitting right there? No way," Blaine snatched his phone back.

"Oh, your words, they wound me!" Wes clutched his chest.

"My poor heart," David pouted. "I think you've broken it!"

"Grow up," Blaine huffed good-naturedly, storming off to his room. His phone rang, and curiously, without checking caller-ID for some thrill, answered it. "Hello?"

"I must say, Blaine Anderson," a light voice trilled. "You are quite the composer."

He smiled. "Thanks, Kurt. I didn't think you'd like it, to be honest."

"Oh, but it's _quite_ good," Kurt replied. "The only problem I have with it is that it's only slightly creepy and stalker-like that you wrote it after knowing me for all of twenty minutes. It's not unlike something out of a soap opera or bad television show."

"You…you think I'm creepy?" Blaine hung his head in shame and embarrassment.

"Weren't you listening? I said _slightly _creepy," Kurt admonished. "Not _totally_."

"And the difference is…?" Blaine ducked into his room.

"You're only about sixty percent creepy, not a full hundred percent," he clarified.

"Oh," Blaine whispered. "I see."

"Were you perhaps thinking of a career in music?" He asked.

"I don't know," Blaine admitted. "I'm only a sophomore."

"Jesus," Kurt's tone changed. "I thought you were at least my age, if not older."

"I hope that doesn't change things between us," Blaine said hopefully.

"I suppose not," Kurt answered slowly. "Though it's hard to look at you now and think that you are younger than I."

"I'm sorry," Blaine needlessly apologized.

"What are you, a bloody martyr?" Kurt huffed. "Stop apologizing for every other thing."

"I'm-" Blaine started to say, but caught himself. "Oh." He cleared his throat. "I was, uh, I was just telling my friends about you."

"And I suppose you told them how 'wonderful' and 'precious' I am, right?"

"No!" Blaine said. "I mean…I didn't mean it like that! I meant, I was just telling them how we met the other week at the store. Nothing bad, nothing bad at all!"

"Look," Kurt said. "I want to like you, really, I do. But you just scream 'I'm perfect, I'm handsome, and I can do no wrong.' And I don't find that very attractive."

"What attracts you, then?" Blaine retorted hotly.

"That is classified information," Kurt shot back, hanging up without a good-bye.

"Shit," Blaine cursed, throwing his phone on his bed in frustration. If he couldn't even hold down a phone conversation with Kurt, how was he ever going to be able to flirt with him and earn his heart?

_Two weeks later_

Blaine wandered through the streets of Lima whistling to himself. Casually, he peered through the window of Kurt's father's store. Sure enough, Kurt was behind the counter, skimming through a magazine and looking thoroughly disinterested in his work. Straightening his bowtie (he had changed out of his uniform for this occasion), he pushed open the door and strode in confidently. Kurt barely looked up upon hearing the door open. Blaine walked up to the counter and leaned on it in a manner that he hoped was flirtatious. "Hey, you come here often?"

"Go away, Anderson," Kurt didn't lift an eye from his magazine.

"I'll bet it hurt," Blaine tried. "When you fell from Heaven."

"I loathe you," Kurt turned the page, suddenly fascinated in an article about new leather belts in that months' _French Vogue_.

"Ah, I see you speak French," Blaine ran his hand through his hair. "That is, but of course, the language…of love."

"I will shove this magazine up your skinny-jean-clad-ass if you don't leave," Kurt threatened. "All six hundred pages of it."

"Oh, but baby, can't you see that you and I are meant to be?" Blaine pulled out one of his cheesiest lines, one that Wes had (unhelpfully) suggested to him.

Kurt smacked his magazine down on the counter. "Are you just here to use incredibly lame and corny pickup lines on me?" He asked, irritated.

"Maybe," Blaine winked. "Maybe I just want to take you on a date."

"When Hell freezes over, Blaine Anderson," Kurt sneered.

"Oh, come on, why?" Blaine whined.

"I don't do the romance and relationships thing," Kurt said. "I did it once and have sworn off it since. I plan to become the new editor-in-chief of _Vogue_, perhaps _French Vogue_ or _Vogue Italia_ and live alone in an apartment in either New York, Paris, or Rome. A partner is just not in the picture."

"What did he do to you?" Blaine cautiously asked.

"He?" Kurt raised a perfectly tended brow.

"The man who spurned you," Blaine clarified.

"What is this, a soap opera? 'The man who spurned you'? Is that hair gel getting to your head, Anderson, or is it just you? For your information, I was _not_ spurned. It was I who dumped him, not the other way around."

"So what you're saying," Blaine closed his eyes. "Is that I don't stand a chance."

"Not on your life, Blaine Anderson," Kurt smiled a sticky-sweet grin before opening his magazine again, dismissing Blaine without a further word. Blaine dejectedly left the store. "And don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out!" Kurt called after him. Blaine sighed and slumped against the wall when he was sure he was out of Kurt's line of vision. "One way or another," he vowed, "I will win that boy over."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Hallelujah.**

**Note: I share Kurt's points of view on religion, but I am trying not to let it impact or effect my writing this. I'm astounded by the sheer amount of Story Alerts you all have put on this, but please, don't be ashamed or afraid to leave a review. **

_Your faith was strong, but you needed proof_

_You saw her bathing on the roof_

_Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you_

"Let me make it up to you," Blaine begged.

"I don't see what you have to make up to me aside from torturing me with your insipid pick-up lines that you no doubt stole from your idiotic private-school friends," Kurt said snidely, pushing past Blaine and going to straighten some metronomes on a shelf.

"I…I went too far in asking about your ex, and I'm sorry," Blaine apologized. "Please, let me do something to repay you."

"Okay," Kurt spun around and faced the younger boy. "Then build a time machine, go back to approximately one week and two hours ago, and un-do coming here."

"Come on, Kurt," Blaine pleaded. "Don't be such a…"

"Such a what?" Kurt crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow, challenging him.

"Such a _douchebag_," Blaine smirked, proud of himself for standing up to Kurt.

"Creative," Kurt scoffed, not seeming to be affected by this.

"God, what did this…guy…do to you to make you so _bitter_?" Blaine spat.

"You're hilarious in your hypocrisy," Kurt smiled. "Did you not just say that you 'went too far' in asking about my ex-boyfriend? And yet here you are, doing it again?"

"I just really want to know," Blaine pouted.

"Well, I don't want you, or anyone else for that matter, to know what really and truly transpired between me and this man," Kurt said simply. "It happened two years ago, and that's that."

"You're not even going to give me the satisfaction of knowing his name?" Blaine asked hopefully.

"Nope," Kurt said. "Not even that."

"Come to church with me and my parents tomorrow," Blaine tried.

"What?" Kurt nearly fell over. "That's the most absurd question I've heard since…well, since a very long time!"

"How is that absurd?" Blaine leaned against a music stand, nearly knocking it over. He straightened it up, embarrassed. "I go to church almost every Sunday with my parents. When my sister's in town—she's away at college—she joins us, too."

"You have a sister?" Kurt seemed curious.

"Yeah, Kayla. She's nineteen. What, do you not go to church? Oh, are you Jewish? Oh, I'm so sorry…how insensitive of me," Blaine apologized.

"I'm not Jewish," Kurt replied. "Nor am I Muslim, nor Buddhist, nor Hindu, nor any of the branches of Christianity."

"So you're…agnostic?" Blaine tried.

"No. I, in fact, am an atheist," Kurt clarified.

"Oh, okay," Blaine said in a small voice.

"Does that offend you in some way?" Kurt refocused his attention on the metronomes.

"No, not at all," Blaine said quickly. "I just…I didn't quite expect it from you."

"Let me guess: you've never met one before," Kurt smiled to himself knowingly.

"Well…no," Blaine admitted. "At least, none that were open about it."

"The answer is no, by the way," Kurt sighed. "I will not attend church with you."

"But why not? You don't have to believe…just come and meet my parents," Blaine attempted to persuade the pale-skinned boy.

"I refuse to step into a building where I am not accepted for my sexuality," Kurt said lightly. "I don't find it fair that God not only takes away my mother at an early age, but He also makes me gay and then tells His followers to go around hating me."

"You can't help the way you were born, Kurt…"

"You don't think I don't fucking know that?" Kurt spat. "Do you know how many people have told me that I'm going to hell for liking other boys?"

"God loves us all, Kurt, regardless of-"

"Apparently not enough," Kurt gripped the shelf harder than he meant to. "Because then He wouldn't have handed me this fucked-up hell of a life."

"Aside from the dead mother and apparently horrible ex-boyfriend, what's so bad about your life?" Blaine approached Kurt, reaching out for him.

Kurt shuddered and pulled away. "That's…not relevant right now, Blaine Anderson."

"Come on, just tell me," Blaine said comfortingly. "I won't tell anyone else."

"No," Kurt said firmly. "I don't want to…talk about this…any further."

"But it'll help you to talk about it," Blaine furrowed his brow. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Kurt mumbled. "Here," he grabbed something off the counter. "Here's your composition book back. I made a few adjustments to your piece."

"Oh?" Blaine rifled through it, curious, but Kurt stopped him.

"No," he said. "Wait until you get home."

"Okay," Blaine stuffed it in his bag. "Well…I, um, I'll see you around?"

Kurt paused and searched Blaine's face with his hauntingly light eyes for a moment or two, looking for meaning and purpose. "Yes," he said finally. "You will."

_Later that night_

"I wonder…" Blaine paged through his composition book. From what he could see, Kurt had made no changes to his piece at all; nothing seemed to be erased or marked over or appeared to be any different than before. Blaine sighed, wondering why Kurt had told him he'd made adjustments when clearly, he had not. Then, something caught his eye. Kurt had penned an entirely new composition towards the back of the book. Blaine scanned the notes quickly, and, curiosity getting the best of him, began to play it. Immediately, he was struck; for someone who claimed to loathe music, Kurt certainly knew his stuff. Perhaps it was his mother's musical talents speaking through, or perhaps Kurt was just extraordinarily gifted, but whichever the reason, Blaine was floored. It was a haunting piece, meant to be played slowly, the chords to be rolled, the melodies to fall, fall, fall…it brought a tear to Blaine's eyes as he listened to what Kurt had written—in ink, nonetheless, and it appeared to have been planned, for there were no cross-outs to be seen—and he was shocked when it ended abruptly. It could be that Blaine was so wrapped up in how beautiful the piece was that time seemed to fly, but it could also have been that Kurt had not _quite_ yet finished his song. Blaine searched for a title, and nearly missed where it was written in tiny all-caps lettering at the bottom of the last page:

_Noah's Song. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Hallelujah.**

**Note: Okay, so the good news here is that you readers are adding this to Story Alert and Favorite Story. Some have even added me to Author Alert, which is flattering, or Favorite Author, which is the highest complement. Still, I'd love for more reviews, if you don't mind. Please and thank you!**

_She tied you to her kitchen chair_

_She broke your throne and she cut your hair_

_And from your lips, she drew the Hallelujah_

"So how'd it go with Kurt?" Wes sipped his latte carefully, blowing over the top to cool it off a little. "Did he like your flirtatious lines?"

"On the contrary, my dear friend Wesley, he hated them," Blaine told him.

"Oh?" Wes raised his eyebrows. "Weird; the ladies seem to love them when I do it. So either you're a bad flirt, or Kurt has no sense of humor."

"He has a sense of humor," Blaine bit into his scone. "It's just…a different one than yours or mine. Darker, you could say."

"Is that right," Wes put his coffee cup down. "Listen, Blaine. I'm only saying this because as a friend and fellow Warbler, I care a great deal about you. But you've got to find someone better than this Kurt fellow. I'm not getting a good vibe from him."

"You haven't even met him," Blaine pointed out. "And I thought you wouldn't be one to judge people before you met them."

"I may or may not have checked out his Facebook profile," Wes admitted. "And in all honesty, he's just not right for you, Blaine…and David agrees with me."

"Well, how'd you meet your girlfriend, then?" Blaine questioned.

"Our mothers are friends, so it was just kind of natural, I suppose," Wes mused.

"Huh, I would not have guessed," Blaine said, surprised. "Wes, I'm…I can't explain what or how I'm feeling for Kurt right now, but I know in my heart that it's right."

"And I don't want to have to fix your broken heart again," Wes said out of concern for his dear friend. "Sebastian nearly destroyed you, Blaine, and call me crazy, but I hate to see you be hurt by another boy again."

"I just need time," Blaine near-pleaded. "Give me a month, you'll see."

"Okay," Wes sat back in his chair. "But please, don't come crying to me when he breaks your heart into a hundred dapper pieces. Trent, on the other hand, would be happy for you to cry on his shoulder…"

"Oh, hush it," Blaine laughed. "Just because the boy idolizes me…"

"Depends on your definition of 'idolizes'," Wes cracked, causing Blaine to giggle again.

_That night_

Blaine was rather enjoying his Friday night alone in his dorm room. He cranked up his iPod and started dancing around the room. "Last Friday night! Yeah, we danced on table-tops, then we took too many shots, think we kissed but I forgot!" He nearly didn't hear his phone ring, but caught the screen lighting up out of the corner of his eye, and danced over to it. His breath caught when he saw that Kurt had sent him a text message.

**Kurt: Please, call 911. Send them to my house. My father just got home and he's in a rage. I'm afraid…**

"Afraid of what?" Blaine whispered in a panic. He quickly turned off his music and dialed 9-1-1. "Hello, 911? My friend, Kurt Hummel, is in trouble. I think his father is about to hurt him or something. Is it possible to send a police officer or two to his house? Here's his address…oh, thank you so much, thank you," Blaine hung up the phone, his heart hammering in his chest. He tried to call Kurt, but got his voicemail after a few rings. "Shit," he swore under his breath. Frightened, he ran down the hall to Wes's room.

"Well, Blaine, what's the rush?" Wes laughed.

"Kurt's in trouble…something about his Dad being angry…I think…I think he might be getting abused by his father," Blaine whispered feverishly.

"Oh, God," Wes muttered. "Well, what do you want to do?"

"I've already called 9-1-1 per his request, and they're sending some officers to his house…I'm just afraid that he might really get hurt…" Blaine tried to catch his breath.

"Blaine…you're trembling…" Wes's face paled. "Here, why don't you come in my room for a little while. I'll make you some hot cocoa, okay?" Blaine nodded, following Wes into his room, settling shakily into Wes's desk chair. "Did you try to call Kurt?"

"I did after I called 9-1-1, but it went to voicemail…he'd texted me that he was afraid, that his father was 'in a rage', that I should immediately call the police…" Blaine gulped, anxious as hell. "I always thought something was off when he mentioned his father. Just his tone of voice, almost mocking, the way he'd tug down his sleeve when he thought I wasn't looking…oh, God," Blaine put his head in his hands.

"Here," Wes handed him a mug of hot cocoa. "I put in the multicolored marshmallows, just how you like it." He sat down across from Blaine. "I'm really sorry," he said.

"What if I was too late?" Blaine's hands shook as he took a sip.

"You weren't," Wes replied. "I can feel it, in here," he patted his chest. "And the fact that he trusted you enough to tell you this, even via text, is a good sign."

Blaine took another sip. "You think so?"

"I know so," Wes smiled. "Do you want to sleep in here tonight? And tomorrow we can see what's up with Kurt?" Blaine nodded. "Stay there; I'll go get your stuff, okay?" Blaine nodded again, trying to get his heart rate steady again. He felt comforted that Wes would be there with him and could try to keep his mind of off Kurt's situation. As Wes was in the bathroom later that night getting ready for bed, Blaine found himself kneeling next to the bed in prayer.

"Dear God," he whispered. "Please, let Kurt be okay. I know I don't pray to You often, Jesus, but I really need you to watch over him, though he doesn't believe in You. I do believe in you, Christ, and I believe in miracles. Make sure Kurt is okay, and may his father burn in Hell for laying a hand on such a beautiful boy. I beg you, God and my Lord Jesus, watch over my Kurt. Amen."

_Morning_

"Wake up, sleepyhead," Wes poked Blaine to wake him up.

"Huh? What time is it?" Blaine peered bleary-eyed at the clock.

"Almost ten," Wes opened the blinds to let the sun in. "I took the liberty of calling Lima Mercy Hospital for you. Kurt was brought there last night."

"What?" Blaine sat bolt upright. "Is…is he okay, I mean…?"

"He's not in ICU, if that's what you mean. I'm not sure exactly what's going on, but I did get his room number. If you want, I can go there with you today."

"Great, thanks," Blaine leapt out of bed, throwing his clothes on. "Let's go." An hour later, he was standing in Kurt's hospital room door.

"Oh, it's you," Kurt sighed. He put the newspaper he had been reading aside. "Come in."

"H…hi, Kurt," Blaine said shyly. "This is my friend, Wesley."

"Call me Wes," Wes shook Kurt's hand. "I go to school with Blaine."

"Ah, one of those private-school friends of Blaine Anderson's," Kurt smirked.

"Kurt, are you okay?" Blaine furrowed his brow in concern.

"I will be once they send me home," Kurt quipped. "Actually, scratch that. I'd rather stay here than go back to the place I call home."

"What did your father do to you?" Blaine asked in a rush.

Kurt looked from Wes to Blaine back to Wes. "Can you excuse us, please?"

"Sure," Wes bowed out. "I'll be in the cafeteria waiting for you, Blaine."

Kurt locked eyes with Blaine for a good solid minute before speaking again. "My father tried to kill me last night."

"What?" Blaine gasped. "Kurt…"

"He was drunk, as is per usual with him," Kurt explained. "And evidently, he'd lost his job yet again. So, as always, he took out his anger on me. I was barely able to send you that message—which I only did because I panicked and you're the first name alphabetically in my contacts—before he rounded on me. Thankfully, the police arrived just before he could do any more damage." Kurt's eyes clouded over. "He had a knife in his hand, one of our steak knives that I thought I'd hidden. I could've…" he trailed off, looking into the distance. "But you were able to get me help. So…thank you."

"Does he hurt you often?" Blaine asked in a low voice.

"Oh, yes," Kurt said. "He's been doing this for years, since before my mother died, even. I hate to say that I've gotten used to it, but…well, I have."

"Is that why you're always pulling your sleeves down when you think I'm not looking?"

"Oh, that," Kurt looked a little embarrassed. "No, no, that's…something else…"

"Why don't you tell someone about your father?" Blaine moved his hand towards Kurt's out of comfort, but Kurt pulled it away, not wanting the contact.

"They never believed me…until last night, when they saw me cornered by him and he about to stab me," Kurt admitted. "They arrested him after that."

"Well, thank God for that," Blaine whispered. "Praise be to Jesus that you're okay."

"Cut the religion shit," Kurt hissed. "It was merely brilliant timing."

"I prayed for you last night," Blaine told him. "And it helped."

"Prayer helps nothing," Kurt spat. "It's a bunch of crap."

"It makes me feel better," Blaine said. "And what's so bad about having strong religious beliefs? Just because I wear a cross around my neck makes me a horrible person?"

"I just hate it when people try to force their religion upon me and tell me a crock of shit about 'being gay is a sin' and that stuff," Kurt said.

"So what are you going to do now? Do you have any grandparents to help you?"

"My aunt is coming later today. She'll stay with me for the time being," Kurt said.

"Well, at least your father will be getting justice for what he did to you," Blaine pointed out unhelpfully.

"That's just the tip of the iceberg," Kurt laughed bitterly. "There's oh so many other ways he fucked up my life. But I shall divulge these things to you one at a time. I don't want you to run away or think I'm pathetic or insane."

"I could never," Blaine murmured.

"I should like to rest now," Kurt lay back against his pillows. "Goodbye, Blaine Anderson, and tell your friend Wesley I say goodbye as well." He paused for a moment, biting his lip. "Is he…like us?"

"Wes has a girlfriend," Blaine laughed.

"Damn," Kurt hit the pillow. "He was a cute one. Ah, well," he sighed.

"Well…goodbye," Blaine waved awkwardly as he got up and went to the door.

"Goodbye, Blaine Anderson," Kurt closed his eyes and settled in for a nap.

Blaine rode down in the elevator alone back down to the cafeteria, where he found Wes reading a magazine and devouring a cookie. "Everything okay?"

"It is for now, yes," Blaine said quietly.

"I'm glad," Wes smiled. "Come on, let's go home." Blaine nodded and followed Wes out to his car. He was pretty silent the whole way to Dalton, wondering how anyone could be so cruel as to hurt someone as beautiful as Kurt Hummel.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Glee or Hallelujah.**

**Note: So, still a lack of reviews, yet a ton of Story Alert adds. Mind dropping me a note to let me know how I am doing? **

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

"Kurt?" Blaine gripped the phone tightly.

"Blaine," he breathed. "Blaine."

"Are you okay?" Blaine ventured to ask.

"Yes," Kurt said after a moment. "My aunt is moving in with me for the time being."

"That's good." Blaine cleared his throat. "Any word on your…?"

"Biological sperm donor? Not yet," Kurt sounded a bit worried. "I just don't want him to get away with attempted murder. Then again, the government in this country is royally screwed up, so he probably will."

Blaine couldn't help but to hear the very quiver of worry in Kurt's voice, the first time the older boy had ever been close to letting his guard down or betraying his emotions, and it calmed him, to know that Kurt was vulnerable after all. "He won't," he said.

"But you never know," Kurt pointed out. "It's his word against mine, really. And they never believed me before. Who's to say they'll believe me now?"

"I'm…I'm sorry, Kurt," Blaine said finally, unsure of what else he could possibly say.

"Don't be," he replied. "It's not your fault."

"If only I could go through it for you somehow," Blaine mused.

"No," Kurt said harshly. "No one deserves that." He softened for a moment. "I guess I called to say thank you…for saving my life."

Blaine felt a lump form in his throat. He had never heard Kurt's voice as soft and gentle and open as it was just now, and it touched him. "You're welcome," he murmured.

They said their good-byes and hung up the phone. Kurt sighed and placed it on his bedside table. His aunt and doctors had put him on bedrest for a few days, and he was being made to see his psychologist again, which he was not too happy about it. So what was it that made him want to talk to Blaine Anderson? It was true that he was a handsome boy, although being younger than him was a turn-off to Kurt. It was also true that Blaine had to be fairly intelligent to be on scholarship at Dalton Academy, and that he was talented in music. Kurt had copied the piece of music that Blaine had written for him into one of his own composition books, those that he hid under the floorboards and only used in desperate times. When he was alone, he would play and let the music waft through him like a ghost, like the ghost of his mother and of the little boy he never was. He put his head in his hands and groaned; he didn't want to feel this way about Blaine. But he did.

_A few days later_

Kurt took a deep breath and dialed Blaine's number, tapping his fingernails on the wood of his nightstand, loving the way they clacked in rhythm. After a few moments, Blaine picked up and answered with a cheery "Hello, Kurt!"

"Hello, Blaine Anderson," Kurt said simply. "I was just calling to inform you that my dad is in jail without bail until a trial can be set."

"That's great, Kurt," he could practically feel Blaine's smile radiating through the phone.

"Yeah," Kurt nodded, but felt silly, as Blaine obviously couldn't see him. "Just thought you should know."

"Okay," Blaine said. "Well, if that's all you wanted-"

"Wait," Kurt interrupted him.

"Yes?"

"Meet me at the Lima Bean tomorrow at three," Kurt said.

"Okay," Blaine smiled. "I will."

"Good," Kurt nodded curtly. "I will see you then. And I hate when people are late."

_The next day_

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Blaine asked as he slid into the chair across from Kurt promptly at three at following day.

Kurt calmly sipped his chai. "I really hate to admit this," he said after several moments' pause. "But I think I am starting to reciprocate your feelings for me." Blaine heard nothing more after that; his mind went blank and his mouth ran dry. He came to his senses just in time to hear Kurt ask, "so does the offer still stand?"


End file.
